Luck of the Ireish
by AnotherChaoticPenName
Summary: Will this be Carlton's lucky day? Probably not. A fic challenge response.


This is in response to a challenge from another site. It had to involve an altercation with a leprechaun, a shamrock shake, and be under 3000 words. I didn't quite make the 3000 word thing (drat!), but hey...close is good enough for horseshoes, it's good enough for fic challenges. Woo!

Luck of the Ire-ish

I growl as I look at my watch. Why is it that doctors seem to think that their time is so much more important than anyone else's? My appointment was for 4:30pm, and here it is now verging on 4:47 with no sign of Dr. Abernathy. I could be finishing up the paperwork on the Dead Jane we found this morning, but no, I'm here. If I didn't have to have my yearly eval done with the report on Captain Vick's desk by tomorrow morning, I'd walk. Instead, I rifle through the stack of magazines on the coffee table. Good Housekeeping. Boring. People. Nothing but ridiculous 'celebrity' garbage. Ugh. Highlights? They still make that magazine? I allow a fond smile as I recall the puzzles I used to enjoy growing up. As long as I'm stuck here…I glance around to verify that I'm still alone in the waiting room and take the magazine into my grasp.

And now it's 4:47, I note with disgust. It's a good thing that I stopped home and changed before my appointment. Time is already running short. I should arrest him for unlawful detainment. As long as I'm stuck here, though, I may as well make the best of it. After making sure I'm still unobserved, I flip open the magazine to the "Spot the Differences" puzzle and begin studying the first image. Then the second. Oh this is so easy…there's one. Two…three and four. So there are four differences. I flip casually to the back to check the answer. Seven? Now wait a minute. I flip back to the images and look again.

The solution must be wrong. There's no way I've missed three differences! See? One. Right there is two. Three. Four. Four!

Oh, for Pete's sake, where the hell is Abernathy? I toss the magazine down as I launch myself to my feet. It's verging on 4:50 now and if we don't get this started, I'm going to be late. I start toward the exam room area, stopping short as one of the doors open.

"Thanks so much for running lines with me. I feel a lot better about that audition, now," I hear Abernathy talking to his current 'patient'. Running lines? Seriously? Practicing for some sort of…_play w_hile I'm out here waiting?

"Don't mention it!" My jaw drops slightly as I recognize the voice belonging to the bane of my existence. Of course it's Spencer. Of course he _runs lines_ with my doctor while I'm stuck waiting in the waiting room. "I think you will make an excellent Hercules Parrot." Hercules Parrot?!? For the love of Zeus, not just running lines but running lines for some sort of a…a children's play? While I'm _waiting?_

"Carlton! Oh, good you're here!" Abernathy calls as he sees me.

Of course I'm here. My appointment started 20 minutes ago, I silently seethe.

"I will be with you in just a couple minutes," he assures me before turning back to Spencer. "Thank you again, dear boy. You be sure to take care of that _sight_ of yours." I roll my eyes, scowling as I watch him pat Spencer's shoulder and then disappear back into his office.

"Hot date, Lassie?" Spencer asks as he approaches me.

"What?" How does he…? "No!" I protest. It's not a hot date. Well…not really. With any luck, though, it could lead to one.

"So you always wear your best suit to the doctor's office." Spencer nods knowingly, and I clench my jaw, trying not to let my reaction show. "And is that…Old Spice? Oooh bringing out the big guns, there Lassie!" What? Women like 'rugged' men! "You know, if you want to impress her, you might want to use some of these," he suggests, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small tube. I frown but catch it as he tosses it to me. Just what the hell is it? "Free samples," he informs me with a small grin as he pats his pocket indicating that he has more. "Eye drops," he arrogantly explains further.

Why would I need…sweet Josephine, are my eyes red? That would not make a good first impression! I duck into the exam room and peer into the mirror. My eyes aren't red. Well…maybe just a slight bit of pink. Stress. Obviously stress. From being stuck in this waiting room!

"He said they might make my eyes a little more sensitive than usual," he informs me as I pop open the sample he gave me and squeeze a few drops of the solution into my eyes, "but should take the red right out for your hot date."

"My date is most certainly not hot!" I grind out before I realize what I'm saying. As Spencer's grin widens, though, I let out a frustrated hiss and amend, "I mean I'm not going on a 'hot date'."

Spencer's face screws up slightly as he mulls my protest over then nods again. "You're right, it's probably more of a luke-warm date."

"It's not a l--" Damn. I scowl, realizing this time before I make the same mistake. "It's not a date."

"Of course not," he agrees in that fakely good-natured way. "Well, have a good time on your…not date."

I give him a curt nod, dismissing him.

"By the way, the solution in the back _is_ wrong."

How did he know? Regardless, of how he knew, I knew it was wrong! Ha! Take that Highlights! "I'm well aware of that, Spencer," I inform him, grinning smugly as I start to pull the privacy curtain. I may as well be ready for Abernathy when he gets back, besides, maybe Spencer will take the hint and leave.

"Yeah, I knew you'd find all eight."

Wait. Eight? The grin fades and I find myself grinding my teeth just a little bit. He's got to be messing with me. I just have to ignore him. If I ignore him, maybe he'll go away.

"Oh, and for the record: Abernathy?" he says conspiratorially in a loud whisper, "So not going to make a good Hercules. I don't think he's even read that play. How big a role for a parrot can there be in a show called 'Black Coffee'?" Before I can comment, or even make sense of what he's said, he's gone. And good riddance.

The physical is quick and relatively painless and I get to my destination with plenty of time to stop into the restroom to check my eyes. The drops seem to have cleared the pink right up, but it can't hurt to do a little bit of preventative maintenance. I squeeze a few more drops of solution into each eye. If he wouldn't be so smug about it, I'd thank Spencer later.

I toss the empty sample tube into the trash and head to my table. Number 13. If I'd been early enough, I'd have requested a luckier table, but now there are a few others in the group already arriving and I don't want to do so in front of any of them. Victoria once told me I need to learn to 'go with the flow' if I want people to like me. If I can't 'go with the flow', I need to at least try to look like I can. I can't help but think, though, that I would have been early enough to switch tables unheeded if Spencer hadn't made Abernathy keep me waiting. So, there, now I have a good reason not to thank him for the drops.

I lick my lips, suddenly aware how dry they are. I should have brought Chap Stick. Why didn't I think to bring Chap Stick? It's not like I'll be kissing anyone tonight, but…if the opportunity arises, I don't want my lips to feel all dry and crusty. Besides, I'm awfully thirsty. And is it getting warm in here? I loosen my tie just a hair before I realize that it's not warm. And my lips are not dry and cracked. It's just nerves. And there's no reason to be nervous. It's not like this is my first date since Victoria. It would be if it was a date, but it's not really a date. I didn't lie to Spencer. It's just a few short meetings that with any luck will lead to a date, but it's not one.

I lick my lips again. Even my tongue feels dry.

I wipe a small bit of sweat from my brow and get up from the table again. It's early yet. No need to stay seated. I can walk around. Get a little fresh air. I loosen my tie just a little bit more. Maybe I'll stop up at the bar and pick up a little liquid courage. I don't know why I'm so nervous. It's not like I haven't gone out on blind dates before. Not that this is a date.

"Scotch on the rocks," I order, my voice cracking slightly.

The bartender looks at me as he picks up a glass. He hesitates for a few moments, his eyes looking me over. "You sure you haven't had enough?" he asks pointedly.

What? I wipe my brow again, slightly disgusted by how damp it is. What a great first impression I'm going to make. I need to calm down! "I haven't had _any_," I snap, then think better of it. "Sorry, it's just been a long day. And I'm a little…"

"Nervous?" he suggests as he places a couple of ice cubes in the bottom of the glass. I glare at him but he's focused on the scotch now. "You're with the--"

"Group," I supply. "And yes."

He smiles knowingly and hands me the scotch. "Just relax," he says smoothly. What does he think I'm trying to do?! "You'll be fine."

I know that! I seethe, snatching the scotch from the counter and dropping my payment as I head back to my table. I toss the scotch down, drinking much faster than I normally would. Instead of feeling better, though, I feel about ten times worse. My mouth feels impossibly dryer.

I head back up to the bar.

"I don't think so, sir," the bartender says this time, before I even order anything.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry but…I really think you've had enough."

I've had _one _drink! I feel my heart racing as I fill with adrenaline, tempted to take issue with him. Except I can't. Or at least shouldn't. "Just give me some water," I grind out, not wanting to argue in case anyone from the group happens to be watching. "Please," I add through grit teeth, trying to force my heart to slow down. It's not working. What I really want to do is tear this guy down until he's begging to give me another scotch. But water is fine. I'll just drink damn water.

The bartender quickly complies, though as he hands it to me, he frowns. "Are you sure you're okay? You look…funny." I look back at him with a fixed glare, then flick my eyes down at his tacky vest (complete with 'flair') and back up at his ridiculous green beret. "Point taken, but you're really…red."

"And you're really green," I retort, downing the entire glass of water as I walk away. I should have stayed there and gotten a refill; it's gone before I even reach my table.

I can't believe how fucking HOT it is in here! I reach up and start loosening my tie a bit more. Hell, it's not worth it. I grab the tie and start pulling it loose, getting angry as it doesn't seem to want to unknot and finally just yanking it off over my head and throwing it to the floor. I unbutton the top couple buttons of my shirt. They seriously need to turn down the heat. What kind of establishment is this? They're trying to sweat us all out? And what's with the bright lights in here? I close my eyes to block it out. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed for a few minutes it'll help me relax and stop my heart from—

"Lassie!"

Spencer? Maybe if I just keep my eyes closed, he'll go away. He can't be here.

"Sir?" Okay, now at least that's not Spencer. He'd never call me that. Maybe I just imagined him.

"What?" I snap.

"Laddie, there's…fer ya..."

"WHAT?!" My heart is pounding so loud it's making it hard to hear. I look up and yelp as I find that I'm face to face with a…is that a…my vision seems to be really blurry, but I think I can make out a…leprechaun? I blink, knowing that when my eyes open it'll be different. Leprechauns are supposed to disappear when you look away, after all.

Except he doesn't. There's a…a…freaky little dwarf with a scraggly red beard. And he's wearing a green suit, complete with a green top hat. He's holding up a serving tray with a big bowl of…is that gold? I blink a few more times, hoping that my cloudy vision is just making me see things funny. I jump back as it reaches for me, and shrink back in my chair as it suddenly seems to grow from a tiny little creature into a giant one that towers over me.

My mouth is too dry and I can't make a sound as its grubby little--no, not little, absolutely HUGE--hands reach toward me.

I try to dodge, but can't move fast enough and I feel his hands on my arms, dragging me from my chair. Get off me! I swing my fists, grinning ferally as they connect and the little (huh, he's little again) creature goes flying. Teach it to attack me!

"Lassie!"

"Carlton, no!"

Juliet? What is she…? I can't see her, but I know that was her. "Brfath bauet?" I ask. That didn't sound right. "Poefbf?"

"…Ton, listen…me," I hear her voice, but my vision is once again so blurry I can't make anything out except a whole lot of green. And it's moving toward me. It's going to get me! I try to lash out again and my fist strikes something.

"Get him!"

No! I turn to run, but before I can something swings at my face and everything goes black.

Ugh. My nose hurts.

And my head is pounding.

I hear a light steady beeping sound. And a whirring something. And…slurping.

I force my eyes open just a hair and groan as I realize I'm in a hospital bed. In the chair next to me is Spencer, and he's slurping some sort of green glop. He grins as he sees me eyeing it in disgust. "Shamrock shake," he announces with glee. "They're magically delicious! Want some? Gus? You want to get Lassie one of these puppies?"

I give him a look of disgust before turning my attention to more important matters. "What happened?" I ask, reaching up to feel the bandage on my nose. Broken. Great.

"Well," Guster is about to explain, but Spencer cuts him off.

"You got beat up by a wee leprechaun," he tells me, his eyes dancing merrily.

"What?"

"Okay, he was a waiter. And a midget! All he was doing was trying to serve a complimentary bowl of chips…"

I groan. "Spencer…"

"You remember that woman we found? The one we didn't know how she died?"

My brow furrows. The Dead Jane. I nod, wondering where he's going with this.

"We figured out what killed her," Guster informs me. I glare at him, waiting for him to get to the point. "She was poisoned."

"What does that have to do with…"

"Atropine," he continues.

I still don't understand what this has to do with me.

Spencer sighs and leans forward in his chair, his face suddenly sober. "They were meant for me," he tells me. "He was afraid I'd have a vision. And he knew I'd seen it and might put two and two together…"

I look at Guster for explanation. He doesn't let me down. "The eye drops." Well maybe let me down a little bit. I frown waiting for him to continue.

"Turns out that Hercules Parrot play--" Spencer begins to explain.

"Hercule," Gus corrects him, sounding highly incensed. "Hercule Poirot!"

"Agatha Christie?" I blurt out, frowning. Guster nods in confirmation.

"Turns out that it's about a guy who is…"

"Don't spoil it!" Guster protests.

"Oh, like he's going to actually read it!"

"I read it!"

"But you're…"

"Let me guess," I break them out of their juvenile bantering. "There's an atropine poisoning in it."

"That's a pretty good guess," Guster acknowledges, and I roll my eyes. Why else would they have brought it up?! "You recognized the symptoms. 'Hot as a hare, blind as a bat, dry as a bone, red as a beet, mad as a wet hen.' They say that the first thing you feel is an unquenchable thirst. Then there's the blurry vision, the inability to accommodate to changing light…delirium, hallucinations…aggressiveness…"

"So how did you figure it out?" I ask warily.

Spencer starts launching into complete drivel, but Guster cuts him off. "The lab found high levels of atropine in the tox screen. We started trying to figure out how it got into her system and I said something about eye drops…"

"And I remembered the 'samples' that Abernathy gave me. Which I gave you for your hot date…"

"It wasn't a hot--how did you know where to find me?" Dryly, I add, "Another 'vision'?"

Spencer grins. "Oh come on, Lassie. I didn't need a vision! That was easy! Your Sunday best? Old Spice? Your conviction that Old Spice somehow makes you 'rugged'?" How did he _know_ that?! "Clearly you were trying to impress a woman." I nod begrudgingly admitting that. "I get it. Your divorce was just finalized, you're lonely." I glare at him but he ignores it. "But you said you weren't going on _a _date. You didn't say you weren't going on several dates," he adds, grinning smugly. "And then I remembered good old Shenanigans and Speed Date night."

I scowl, but have to admit, he's good at what he does.

"I can't believe you actually got beaten up by a midget!"

I hate him.


End file.
